


Carry On: The Rise and Fall of Lance McLain

by sailoraries (astro_jen)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Humor, Enemies to Lovers, Lance (Voltron) Being an Idiot, M/M, Magic, Pining Keith (Voltron), Romance, Slow Burn, but i swear its not, carry on, carry on crossover, feels like a hogwarts au if you haven’t read Carry On, i swear no stupid love triangles, in this house we respect allura, initial and plot relevant allurance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 18:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20345047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astro_jen/pseuds/sailoraries
Summary: ‘You were the Sun... and I was crashing into you.” Troubled by his own magical incompetency, Lance is the worst Chosen One to ever be chosen. Just ask Keith, his roommate and ineffable thorn in his side. But it’s okay, because this is his destiny, this was why he was brought to Watford, school for magicians. And he’s not alone. He has his friends. He’s ready for senior year. If only his mentor would stop avoiding him, oh, and if only they could finally defeat that magic-eating monster that runs around wearing Lance’s face.





	Carry On: The Rise and Fall of Lance McLain

**Author's Note:**

> hey! welcome to my long dreamt of attempt to blend my two loves, Voltron and Carry On. for clarification, i will only be using the characters from voltron, and a rather loose following of the plot and Carry On world. there is no need to have read Carry On to understand this (but you totally should read it anyways. it’s amazing). hope you enjoy!

Lance. The boy with no known last name. The Chosen One was the more formal title some people referred to him as. But he couldn’t exactly put that on his metro card. He stared down at his place holder name: _Watford_. The Mage explained that the one thing he couldn’t give Lance was his name. So he gave him the school’s instead. Pidge had always teased him about how _when_ Lance got married, he’d have to take the girl’s last name.

Now that he had arrived at the train station and was firmly settled in his seat, he could finally allow himself to settle back into thoughts about Watford, school for magicians, and all that was there. Back at the end of first year, he had driven himself mad spending the whole summer dreaming and thinking and longing about school and his friends and The Mage. It was all he could do. The care home was tortuously dull compared the world of magicians and magick that he had immediately grown a taste for. So, he made a deal with himself. When living amongst the Normals, he was one of them. There was no Watford, no magick, no tantalising adventures and friends that he’d die for. Nothing but bleak and cold children’s care homes and a blur of uncomfortably hot days in the city.

Soon enough, the doors were closing and the early morning lights of New York were fading. This was his favourite part. Sure the journey up state was scenic enough, but the sight of being removed from the dull concrete and gruff faces and endless monotony was the first glimpse of joy he’d get all summer. That was how Lance had marked the transition into Fall. Not the browning leaves and the growing crispness in the air. No. It was the low thrum of anticipation deep in his gut that could only mean one thing: he was going _home._

***

Once safely outside the city limits and surrounded by windows of misty greenery, Lance allowed himself to indulge in his mental checklist of things he loved most about Watford. The food, obviously. No suspicious cafeteria sludge or cold ham sandwiches under cheap fluorescent lights that hum all the goddam time. The Watford _dining halls_ were furnished with long oak tables and cushioned benches, with dim hanging lights that made everything glisten and appear, well, magical. And they were fully stocked with every delicacy imaginable. One foot away from the grand arched doors and you can already smell the wafts of heavenly roasts and spices. His mouth could water just thinking of all the sweet pastries he could snack on every day. And even better than the food, he never sat alone in the dining hall. What surrounded him was easily his favourite thing about Watford, his friends. Every breakfast, lunch, dinner, clandestine midnight snack breaks, were always spent with at least one of his group.

First there was Pidge, dependable and snarky, his first friend. He’d barely seen much of the school at all when she stormed up to him in Potions 101 and stared him down. Thick glasses were overshadowed by chunks of unruly sandy hair. Her small, wiry frame betrayed her voice and determination. “Katie Holt, call me Pidge.” Was the only explanation she’d offered. Months later, Lance discovered what had really drawn Pidge to him all those years ago. He’d assumed that she, like everyone else, was drawn to the unprecedented flow of magick that Lance possessed; other magicians couldn’t get enough of it. Unlike Normals, he’d have to actively try to get magicians to hate him (except his roommate, who had no trouble hating Lance). But as it turns out, it wasn’t the magick that attracted Pidge, it was the danger. Her parents had sat her down and warned her about The Mage’s _Chosen One_, a young boy that came from virtually nowhere with no last name or limit to his power. Even at that young age, they all knew what political pawn Lance would undoubtedly become. But Pidge was all in for the ride.

Not long after Pidge, they’d drafted in Hunk: loyal as hell and big enough to crush Lance in a never-ending bear hug. They first met in the dining hall, naturally. The two boys shared an infinite appreciation for the food. Hunk had felt right at home when he discovered that they stocked the very meals his mom would make. “I knew this place had everything, but come on, they have everything!” He had beamed. Hunk soon enough found that the best cure for homesickness, a feeling Lance was yet to experience, was fresh lau lau and spending his time with Lance, laughing uncontrollably at Pidge conjuring up images of The Mage in a dress.

Despite his infamy, Lance hadn’t gathered any other close friends. Whilst admired, he had remained the object of rumours and hushed murmurings in the halls when people thought that he wasn’t listening. That was, until he met Allura. Months into his first semester at Watford, and he’d finally plucked up the courage to speak to the enigmatically beautiful white-haired girl that he kept catching sneaking glances at him from the back of class. Well, what actually happened was Pidge growing tired of his “incessant whingeing”. “**_He who dares!_**” She had spelled deftly, and before Lance knew what he was doing, he was facing those deep, almost violet eyes, and choking out a fateful “hi”. It wasn’t long before their mutual crush had blossomed into much more. For a while, Lance thought that was the real magic. That someone as amazing as Allura could be bothered to even spend time with him, never mind actually matching his feelings. They’d sneak out of their rooms past curfew, giggling and holding hands as they ran through The Meadow, and stole kisses under the moonlight. The memory of this caused a pang of dread through Lance. He and Allura hadn’t been that happy in a long time. He’d chalked it up to them maturing from lovesick kids, worn down by the years of turmoil they’d experienced. But that was before he caught Allura holding hands with his sworn enemy, _Keith_, in the Wavering Woods on the last day before summer. He’d avoided thinking about that one.

He couldn’t communicate with anyone from school whilst living amongst the Normals, it was The Mage’s rules. So him and Allura hadn’t spoken all summer. She doesn’t even know that he saw. It’s probably not on the top of her mind, he hoped. Whatever _moment_ those two were sharing was surely interrupted by what happened next. Something he definitely did not miss about Watford: The Insidious Humdrum. Don’t be fooled by the name, the Humdrum was much more than a thorn in Lance’s side. It was the single biggest threat to the magickal world. They had been attempting to fight it ever since freshman year, when it first appeared. And until before summer, no one had ever seen it. It had only ever sent all sorts of magickal beasts to do its bidding. The flock of possessed rats, whilst disturbing, was easy enough to thwart, even as a young magician. But during his sophomore year, the Humdrum had sent a chimaera to attack Lance. It took all that he and Keith, in a rare moment of them working with each other, had. He had always thought of that battle as the worst thing the Humdrum has ever thrown at him. Until he met the Humdrum itself.

It was the last day of junior year, only months ago. The senior graduation ceremony had already started in the Great Hall. Pidge was going to miss her brother, Matt, receive his magickal diploma. But they had bigger problems. Lance had been… summoned. Like against his will, pulled all the way across a body of water, away from his friends and the safety of the school. He owed his life to Pidge’s quick thinking. Before Lance could even finish his first shriek, she had grabbed his arm and was in turn dragged along with him.

He tried to shake those thoughts away from his head. He didn’t need to deal with that just yet, he’d waited all summer, another few hours won’t change much. Back to his list, he thought, furrowing his brow. Next up was The Mage and Lotor, pretty much the only family he’d ever known. Of course The Mage had only officially adopted Lance so that he could even attend Watford. But despite already having Lotor, his fully-grown son, The Mage had instated Lance as his heir. He even gave him the mage’s sword, for protection and proof of who he was. The only reliable magick Lance could ever do was summon the sword. The first few years of high school, The Mage had been like Lance’s shadow. Or maybe it was the way around. But not long ago, he had become… agitated. It was strange, and concerning. He had heard rumours that The Coven were considering overthrowing The Mage, due to his ill-health. But all mutterings were swiftly silenced when Lotor had assumed his father’s position as head teacher and leader of the magickal world. “Mage Zarkon humbly requests your patience and trust in this troubling time,” Lotor had announced to the whole school assembly, “have no concerns of his authority. I shall be taking over all responsibilities whilst my father recovers.” Lance hadn’t seen The Mage since. He only received letters and messages through Lotor. Though, he still thought of him, almost every day. The man that had hunted Lance down all those years ago, scared and surrounded by a fire of his own creation at only eleven years old. He had taken him in, explained who he was. The Mage had given him his identity, he had given him Watford, he had given him everything. And now he was gone. The last Lance had seen of him, was that time in his office, only days before Lotor had taken over. He was drenched in sweat, wild and agitated, pacing the once immaculate room that was now a maze of books. He ignored Lance, he just kept muttering incoherently. Lotor won’t hear anything of it, but that was something more sinister than some illness. Something had royally spooked the most powerful man Lance knew.

“Tea or coffee?” Lance’s concentration was broken by the sweet-voiced train attendant that wheeled the dining cart.

“Coffee, please.” Lance coughed, adjusting back to reality. As he sipped on the crappy, lukewarm drink, he checked his phone. No messages. Only half an hour left. Disheartened that his mental checklist had now been ransacked by all the stress and worries that Watford brings, Lance veered his thoughts to something he knew would still bring him peace. The next item on his list. Romelle and the goats. The slightly strange and withdrawn, yet caring and understanding, goatherd of the school grounds had quickly became a reliable friend of Lance’s. Romelle didn’t care much about all the Chosen One business, or that Lance was The Mage’s heir and most powerful magician yet. She didn’t care that despite being their only hope, Lance couldn’t control his power, no matter how hard he tried. That he could only ever produce pathetic sparks or turbulent wildfires, and nothing in between or on demand. Romelle’s hut was an oasis, a safe-house. Pidge wasn’t one for the outdoors. And Hunk wasn’t too comfortable with “all the gloom” that Romelle brought with her. Allura had just found the whole situation rather weird. So it was only ever Lance and Romelle, and the goats of course. Until one day Lance discovered Keith lurking about. He had so much rage, he could’ve burned down the whole school. But Romelle had simply swatted Lance with her broom. “You’re not the only one with sadness, Lance. He just wanted to hear about his mom.” Anger had quickly turned to shame. Romelle had a way like that.

Last on the list was Lance’s room. Holed up in a turret, the unique vantage point gave the room the need to balance out the sloping ceilings with an unusual amount of floor space. It was the biggest room in all the dorms, with ridiculously plush mattresses and a small nook by the window. During the day, sunlight would stream in and Lance could lovingly gaze upon the school grounds. At night, it seemed as if the stars danced only for his eyes. The only failing in his otherwise perfect residence was his roommate. Of course it was Keith. He had begged The Mage to switch them, Keith would surely try murder him in his sleep for crying out loud! But whilst he had admitted that The Crucible’s choice to pair those two together was questionable to say the least, there was nothing he could do. The roommates’ Anathema would protect him, after all. If you shared a room with someone in Watford, they could cause you no harm, lest they risk being kicked out forever. As first years, you get warnings. Lance had tried to throw a book at Keith and his hands froze right there and then. It took days for them to thaw out. Keith has never tried to break the Anathema.

Soon enough, the train slowed to a halt. Lance recognised it immediately, grabbing his bag and bouncing out from his seat. The fresh air near enough assaulted him. Thick with late morning dew and the scent of hundreds of trees. He was the only person who got off at this stop. Of course it was perfectly nondescript. Most Normals never questioned it, those that were even slightly curious as to why there was a train stop in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere, weren’t too troubled by it. In an otherwise empty expanse of grass, sat a bright yellow cab with its engine running. Lance approached it. “Watford?” He asked, peering through the open window. The driver glanced up from his newspaper, and let out a grunt that he could only assume was agreement. Lance climbed into the front seat, excitement beginning to rise. As they took off, he eyed the sight of his driver. Plainly dressed, unshaven, middle-aged. Nothing remarkable. Lotor’s Normal disguises usually had more, well, finesse.

“What inspired this get-up then?” Lance snickered. “Were they all out of tuxedo-wearing limo drivers?”

The driver hissed, “I would shut up if I were you, kid.” Lance furrowed his brows in confusion. At that moment, he realised that the doors were locked. That they weren’t heading to Watford at all. A cursory glance at the rear view mirror confirmed his suspicions. He caught sight of the driver’s reflection, bright green skin with violently red lips. Goblins. In an instant he was summoning his sword and slicing right through the goblin’s neck. The car quickly spun out of control away from the road. They headed straight for a ravine. Lance swore under his breath as he yanked the decapitated goblin out from its seat. He could hear Pidge berating him when he wrenched its cold fingers off of the wheel. His pulse loud in his ears. “You never think these things through Lance, use a goddam spell, for Merlin’s sake!”

Successfully planted in the drivers seat, Lance grabbed the wheel and spun it as far as it would go, sending the car skidding towards the grass. In a panic, he realised that he now needed to actually _stop the car_. “What kind of goblin drives a stick shift!” He shrieked to himself, yanking the stick in all sorts of directions and praying one worked. The car’s engine protested wildly in response. “Fuck it.” Lance spoke through gritted teeth as he slammed one foot hard onto what he could only hope was the brake.

After what felt like forever, the car ground to a reluctant stop and Lance recoiled in horror when the goblins head rolled onto his lap. He swung the door open and hauled himself out. He paused briefly to catch his breath and assessed the situation. It wouldn’t be long before the goblin grew a new head. He winced at the wreaked car he couldn’t even drive. Looks like a long walk to Watford ahead of him. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading :)


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